Lethe
by likeafairy190410
Summary: Before the 74th Hunger Games, when Cinna was just an apprentice, he met a girl. And everything Cinna did after her was in her name; her memory.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. I just like playing with the characters.**

**_MIKA_ is pronounced MY-KAH. Not mee-kah. Just ... by the way.**

**Hello. This story is a thing that has been buzzing around for quite a while. Cinna (my favourite) is so utterly different from all the other Capitol citizens we meet and we never discover why. This bugs me (though I understand why Suzanne Collins left it at that). Anyway. I started writing this after I finished reading the books just over two or three years ago now (I read them all in about three days - _that_ is how hooked I was). I wasn't going to post this initially, because it was honestly just for my own satisfaction, but I was going through my old things, found the books I had written it in, started editing it, fixing it up and then a friend encouraged me to post it online. So here it is.  
(I'd love to hear thoughts on it, so reviews would be nice).**

* * *

LETHE

One of the five rivers of Hades; stream of oblivion.  
_Oblivion_; 1) the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening around one.  
2) Senseless, blankness, darkness, nothingness.  
3) Destruction or extinction.

* * *

I was herded into the arena at the front of the stage in front of District Four's Justice Building, with all the other girls. The boys were to my left and the past victors of District Four were in a solemn line, standing behind the selected escort for District Four this year. Camera men sat upon high stools at all corners of the Square, which would allow the cameras to capture the 'festivities' below from all angles.

Our escort looked stranger than usual this year. But I've said that every year. Her hair was spiky and a metallic black hair that seemed too inky to be natural, with geometric silvery-grey tattoos running up and down her arms and neck. She introduced herself as Lucile before she began her speech that began every Reaping. Why we were here. What the Districts did to deserve this. What the Hunger Games were there to remind us of. It was the same one every year, and it was easy for your mind to wander during it, to dark, fearful thoughts of getting randomly chosen as tribute.

My older brother and I were not brought up like some other people in my District. There were those here who treated the Games as an opportunity for glory, although District Four was definitely not as bad as One or Two, with their training academies built for the sole purpose of the Games and volunteers lusting for blood and victory each year. Every few years or so, though, someone in our district would volunteer. It was the selection of my mother's sister as tribute that had me brought up seeing the Games in a different light to these people. My Aunt Chelle died in the Games - she came eleventh out of twenty four. When I was old enough to understand that I'd even had an Aunt who'd been in the Games, my brother and I decided to ask my parents what exactly had happened to her. It ended badly. My mother got teary and angry and absolutely refused to tell us anything and my father warned us to never speak of it again. So we did some research. At our schools, they have tapes of the past Games. We found the right year, my brother snuck in and took it and together we watched my fourteen year old Aunt get chopped into tiny pieces by tributes from Districts Two, who were supposed to be her allies.

The Hunger Games turned children into monsters, I'd realized, with absolute certainty. And I did not want to be a monster.

Lucile was moving across the stage now, reaching into the spherical container with the many names of possible tributes fluttering around of tiny slips of white paper. They seemed to be eluding her fingers. I ran through the calculation I'd done a thousand times again in my head. How old was I now? Nearly sixteen. I had only taken the tesserae once, during a particularly difficult period of time when I was fourteen. My family didn't even know I had taken it until I brought the grain home. I remember my brother and I made a deal. I took it once and he signed up three times. But he wasn't eligible now anyway, so I didn't have to worry about him anymore. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There were certainly people from District Four whose names were in there more times than mine. The odds were in my favour.

What a naive thing to believe, I thought as soon as Lucile announced my name.

"Mika Lethe."

It boomed over the crowd. Like a wave, people turned to face me, their faces blank, masked or, from the people I knew from school, filled with terror. I took as step forward and tried to ignore the half-choked scream I heard that I knew was my mother's. Fear hit me then like a wave knocking my feet out from under me and I nearly tripped over a loose crack in the stone pavement at the sound of her despair. I refused to look back at her though. I knew I would take one look at her, my Dad and my brother and I'd break. I already had images of the Aunt Chelle's mangled body flashing in my head and I was having a hard enough time of internalizing all I was feeling.

I climbed the steps to the stage and the eyes of the Victors all greeted me. Some victors stood out more than others. Annie Cresta stared vacantly at me. She was always vacant. Mags, one of the eldest Victors, looked pitying. Aron Conch looked vaguely nostalgic. I think Finnick Odair was sizing me up. Does she have what it takes to survive? He probably wasn't liking what he was seeing. I was quite slim for my age, almost waifish. A sudden, strange feeling of determination overcame me then. I'd show him. I'd show them all how strong I could be.

It worried me how quickly that feeling overcame most of my fear.

The boy tribute was chosen next. His name was Zeke Marshes and I recognized him from school. He was in the grade below me.

Then our mentors were announced. They were usually the most recent male and female victors of the Games from our District, but ever since Annie Cresta won almost two years ago, she hasn't exactly been right in the head and many thought it would be unfair to basically condemn a tribute to death because they had her as mentor. Mags was the only other female District Four victor alive today and she had problems communicating. So Aron Conch, who won the sixty-second Hunger Games, took her place. He was tan and lanky with dark windswept hair and blue eyes and had won his games at the age I'd be turning in a few days; seventeen. He was Zeke's mentor. Finnick Odair was mine. Usually I'd been thrilled to spend some one-on-one time with someone who looked like Finnick Odair. He was downright gorgeous. But the current situation I'd been pulled into had put a damper on that. I'd also heard that he had quite a reputation in the Capitol.

After a few more formalities, like asking for volunteers (which no one did), we were quickly taken inside the Justice Building to say good bye to our families for what was likely the last time.

* * *

Saying good bye to my family was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life - which would soon be contested anyway. I reflected back on my father's admirable attempt to stay stoic, my mother's failure to form coherent sentences and my brother holding my hand in silence, the only one to stay truly composed, as I fingered the ring that was to be my District token. It was cool on my finger; a simple band of gold delicately engraved with sweeping tidal waves. It was supposed to be a birthday present. It was highly unlikely I'd make it past seventeen now.

I was seated at the dining table on the train across from Zeke on the train speeding away from our home, on the way to the Capitol. In front of us lay plates of food; pastries filled with cream, thinly sliced meats on a bed of greens, a large salty fish dripping in butter, fruit salad and several different juices in large jugs. Although we definitely had enough food and sustenance in District 4, I'd absolutely never had anything to this scale. My father was only a fisherman and my mother was a weaver. Food of this magnificence was saved for those in positions of power.

Soon the silence that preceded over the room became too much for me, so I opened to my mouth to speak to Zeke, but before I could get a word out, Lucile, Finnick and Aron entered the carriage. Lucile immediately pulled us both to our feet, saying something about getting a good look at us, and dragged us forward. I was still wearing the simple, white cotton dress that hung loosely off my frame; the one I'd pulled on that morning for the Reaping without a real thought because I'd honestly thought I would not have been selected. My stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of my home. I may never see it again. I'd taken everything I had for granted this morning and now it was all so far away.

I was pulled from my thoughts as Lucile moved to examine the pair of us closer, taking our hands and turning us to the side slightly before stepping back. She bit her lip, painted dark red, her eyes running up and down the pair of us. Finnick and Aron were also watching. I met Finnick's sea green eyes and held them. There were stories about him sleeping with many women from the Capitol, even though he and Annie Cresta, District Four's most recent Victor, were rumoured to be lovers as well. I wondered vaguely if she knew of the stories. I looked away and forced myself to focus, hearing the end of a compliment from Lucile about my clear complexion and slight frame.

"Sea water," I say simply, trying to make it seem as though I hadn't missed most of what she had been saying. "It's good for the skin."

Lucile nodded enthusiastically, looking genuinely intrigued, before moving on. "Well, both of you seem healthy _and_ attractive enough to live up to being from one of _the_ favourite districts. Let's eat then we can watch the rest of the Reapings together and scope out the competition! By then, we'll be at the Capitol and we can meet the stylists!"

It annoyed me that Lucile did not seem to be acknowledging the fact that at least one of us was going to die because of this whole situation. But nevertheless, I did what she said without a word.

Finnick sat beside me at the table. I wondered if he would wander off to be with some Capitol woman when we reached our destination.

"Mika," Finnick said politely, after an awkward moment of quiet, while Lucile, Aron and Zeke talked about how Zeke had just learned how to use throwing knives.

"Finnick," I replied, staring at all the food, not at all feeling like eating.

"I've seen you around the shores," Finnick continued. "But I never actually talked to you. It's disappointing we've had to meet like this."

"Hm," I say, playing with my fork.

That was the extent of the conversation between Finnick and I. However, it would be wrong to say I didn't like him. He, Zeke, Lucile and Aron were much more comfortable talking to each other over lunch and while we watched the Reapings. Finnick was charming, funny and strangely insightful (and I'm pretty certain Lucile was already smitten). I just wasn't comfortable talking to him yet. I rarely was with anyone at first. Which is why when Aron also eyed me curiously a few times, I looked away quickly, eager to avoid conversation.

We arrived at the Capitol, one of the first districts to do so. Immediately, we were hastened up to our room on level four, the one we'd be staying in.

Zeke was immediately whisked away by Aron, as his stylist was already ready. Mine, however was taking longer than expected, so Finnick and I sat together on one of the lounges.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me. "What's between you and Annie Cresta?" I ask.

Finnick turned his head slowly to face me. "Why are you interested?"

I shrug. "I'm just curious. In the Capitol, you're always seen with all these women." And men, I recall suddenly. A snippet of a gossip broadcast popped into my head, about rumours of Finnick and a Capitol senator. I keep quite though.

Finnick leans back and surveys the room, his face strangely blank. When he's ascertained that we're alone, he says quietly, "I love Annie. And before you ask, she does know about what goes on in the Capitol. She's knows why I'm … with them too. It isn't ... it's not my choice." I wait for him to elaborate, to explain the vague, almost disconnected sentences, but he doesn't.

"So it is true. But ... why?" I ask tentatively.

Finnick smiles, ruefully at me. His whole face lights up when he smiles, despite the edge of bitterness laced in his voice. "I'll tell you what; if you get out of that arena alive, I'll let you know." He looks at me up and down and his bitterness in more pronounced now. "If you do make it out, you'll find out anyway, I'm sure. You're beautiful enough."

I frown at the confusing last statement, confused as to what my looks had to do with getting out of the arena, but replied anyway. "I'll hold you too that."

"It sounds like you plan on getting out."

I bite my lip, thinking carefully how to word this. "I don't want to die," I end up saying. It's the simplest way I can put my thoughts into coherent sentences. I don't want to die.

Finnick shakes his head, a faint smirk on his face. He holds something out to me. "Sugar cube?" he offers.

I look to see if he is serious; he is. So I make a movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug and take it. The sugar is just melting in my mouth when Lucile comes back in and drags me down the hall, saying my stylist had come, my prep team had arrived and we were finally ready to start.

I was ushered into a bright white room with one entirely glass wall showing the Capitol city outside. It was all tall metal buildings and bright lights and colours too shiny and bright, not normally seen in natural surroundings.

My Prep Team were three, typically colorful Capitol citizens. Two males and one female. They undressed me so I was wearing nothing, than sat me in a chair in the middle of the room. I was not embarrassed by the nudity. Skinny dipping was a common occurrence in District Four. They worked on me, chattering away about my "elfin" features, my "ideally structured" frame, my "golden" tan and skin tone. All were compliments, until the pink haired male with the three nose rings, Stell, reached my hair.

My hair is a light, golden blonde colour, a few shades darker then sand, long and wavy. I usually wore it down so it spilled over my shoulders. "Your hair is so dry," he said, pursuing his lips, pulling at the strands so they waved down my back.

"Sea water," I say again, Lucile popping into my head at once. "The salt dries out your hair." Stell looked appalled.

"On the plus side," he said, brushing through sweet-smelling pink cream through the length of my hair, "your hair does have a lovely natural wave." I decided that, despite the situation, I quite liked my prep team. They were people, despite their obvious shallowness, that I would enjoy being around in any other circumstances. They asked me many things about my life and commented on it, seeming to be genuinely interested, taking my mind off the fact I was being primped and dressed like a doll about to be handed to destructive two-year-old.

Just over an hour later, I had reached the "Beauty Base One" stage, a very complex, technical term apparently. It was supposed to make me look natural. Using liberal amounts of beauty products. I get a good look at myself in the full length mirror leaning against one wall. I don't look incredibly different. My hair is the only vastly noticeable change. It's smoother, shinier, more silky looking and definitely less frizzy. My blue eyes look brighter and wider, due to the white eyeliner that Reeba, the only female member of my prep team, had lined my eyes with. I was completely hairless (apart from the hair on my head, of course), which I suppose I was okay with. In District Four, most of us were. It allowed us to move through the water faster and with more ease.

My prep team showered me with more compliments, which I accepted gracefully with a small smile. I didn't want to be mean, even though it was wearing on me, and I could admit that I looked good, even though I liked the way I looked before my prep team had gone through with me.

They slipped me into the white robe that had been hanging on the chair and tied it loosely at my waist before leaving the room so my stylist could observe me uninterrupted. The arms of my robe were slightly too big and almost covered my hands, but the actual robe itself was short, coming up three quarters of my thighs. I wondered if it was made that way on purpose.

I saw an incredibly tall woman with vibrant purple hair, very pale green skin and a long flowing, lime green dress enter the room over my shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. We stared at each other for a few seconds in the mirror before I turned around to face them. Another figure entered the room. He looked about eight years older than me and was a lot shorter than the woman but taller than me, which admittedly wasn't hard. He didn't exactly look like someone from the Capitol. He had a natural looking shade of hair, dark brown, and his eyes were hazel, the green flecks in them emphasized by the thick line of gold surrounding his eyes. The lines of gold were the only strange, Capitol-ish things about him. He wore plain, simply cut clothes in muted colours and his skin was a natural colour, not dyed. He was the first real thing I'd seen since I'd entered the Capitol. The bitter feeling I had felt before my prep team relaxed me crept up on me again.

"Well, you certainly are a natural beauty," the tall women said, her voice heavily accented with the Capitol affections. She sat down regally on the chair I'd just vacated. "I'm Viola, your stylist. I apologize for being late. There were some problems with my apprentice." Her gaze flickered to the boy. "I didn't know I was getting one, you see. But I've seen Cinna's designs. He's competent. Perhaps even the next big stylist. Maybe he'll take over my expertise in the styling of the Career Districts."

I stared at Cinna the Apprentice. "Okay," I said, immediately closing up to this woman. Something about her made me immediately dislike her.

Viola waited a second. When it was obvious I wasn't going to say anything else, she coughed and said, "Drop the robe for me." I let the robe fall in a crumbled, white heap on the floor. Her eyes ran up and down my body. "You look right even with no serious enhancements or clothes. It must be all that fresh sea air," she smiled, attempting to be kind I think. I didn't smile back. I was, after all, being presented to kill and be killed for entertainment, I thought reproachfully. If I didn't want to be nice, I wasn't going to be.

"Not very happy, are we," Viola murmured. "That's ok. I think I already know how I'll dress you for the parade." She turned to Cinna the Apprentice, who'd been hovering behind the chair, and her voice turned brisker, more business-like. "Cinna, wait with her and as an exercise, write down any ideas you have for dressing Mika for the parade." Without saying anything else, she strode from the room.

Cinna looked at me. I stared back, holding his gaze. "You have nice eyes," he said, finally breaking the silence and eye contact, looking down to make a note.

"My nakedness doesn't distract you?" I asked, my voice seductive, but with a bitter edge.

Cinna paused, and his eyes flickered upwards, mostly obscured by lashes. "Should it?"

I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. That was not the response I expected from a Capitol citizen.

"You're … pretty, yes," Cinna said, looking down again. "But prettiness isn't everything." Oh. Hm. A stylist that wasn't shallow. Well that was not what I expected.

I stay quiet, unable to think of a response, as he circles me, occasionally writing something down, the scratch of the pen the only sound pervading the room.

"Are all the other stylists like you?" I eventually ask.

"Apprentice," Cinna corrected automatically. "And some are. We're not all incredibly superficial."

"But you're preparing to serve me up on a platter," I say coldly. "Like a meal."

Cinna halts, surprised at my abrupt change of tone, than slowly continues. "Yes. I suppose we are."

I grimace. "At least you don't deny it."

Cinna came right up close to me then, his face inches from mine, examining my facial structure, tilting my head to examine my face from all angles, running a finger along my cheekbones, all the while stopping to take notes. "We're employed too, you know," he says, scribbling something down. "It's a job."

"Don't justify it," I scoff. "Don't justify having us kill each other for entertainment."

Cinna stops, a cold edge to his voice. "I don't justify killing anyone. I just never thought of my enjoyment for making and designing clothes and costumes as dressing people up like they're going to be eaten."

"What else would you be doing?" I ask harshly. Cinna can't answer and he continues in silence, noticeably less focused.

Viola eventually sweeps back in, her arms carrying a large pile of fabrics, bottles, pins and tapes.

Cinna steps back without a word and she begins to busily measure me, check different shades of fabric against my skin tone and play with my hair. All the while, Cinna watches me with guarded eyes.

* * *

A couple of hours later, we are called to dinner, so I pull on the clothes provided and follow Cinna and Viola into the dining room where Lucille, Finnick, Aron, Zeke and another man with shiny silver hair and dark skin were waiting. Viola, Cinna and I took the spare seats and dinner was served.

The food was admittedly fantastic. It was teeming with flavour and was so good, I almost forgot where I was. When I remembered though, it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I stopped talking in mid-sentence immediately.

Cinna, Finnick and perhaps Aron were the only ones who noticed my sudden change but none of them said anything about it. I stared at the empty plate angrily, once again wishing someone had volunteered to take my place this year.

When dinner had finished, I quickly excused myself and exited to the room I was staying in, locked the door, sat in the middle of the cool floor and allowed myself to curl up and cry. Yes, cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be there with my brother and parents. I wanted to be sitting on the long, deserted jetty and be swinging my legs off the edge, or enjoying the day off with my friends exploring the rock pools or diving off the only cliff safe enough to dive off fully clothed just because I felt like a swim. Instead, I was here. In a white room, with white walls and white sheets in a superficial city with people who are eagerly awaiting the Games to start so they can watch me fight, kill or die.

After about an hour of sitting on the floor feeling sorry for myself and my situation, there was a knock on the door. I didn't answer. Whoever it was could get the message and leave me alone. Unfortunately they didn't, and knocked again.

"Go away," I groan, flopping into the plush white carpet on the floor.

"It's Cinna."

"So?"

"So … what?"

"Exactly," I sighed exasperatedly. I raised my voice. "What do you want?"

"Only to take you for a walk."

That piqued my curiosity. I lifted myself from the floor and slunk over to the door and opened it. Cinna stood there, his face changing almost immediately to a look of concern.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"How can you take me for a walk? I'm not allowed to leave," I snap, before realizing he asked me if I was ok. "And that's a stupid question." Rude, I scolded myself. My mother would've yelled at me for my lack of manners.

Cinna nodded. "I suppose it is." He reached out and smoothed my hair. "Since you obviously don't want to be with the others watching the reapings recap or the commentary, come walk with me."

"Didn't you hear me?" I said. "We can't go anywhere. I'm trapped in this building. Where would we go?"

"It's a surprise," Cinna replied brightly.

I'm still suspicious but he seems genuine. And I could use a distraction from my thoughts. I swallow and say "Okay. But … why?"

"Why not?"

"Don't answer my question with another question!" I laugh, despite myself.

Cinna allows himself a grin. "Fine." His jaw tightens a little. "Because the Games are in a few days and you might as well get a good look at the Capitol before then."

The remnants of my laugh slide off my face. I'm surprised at his bluntness but I welcome it. Everything else here has been sugar coated. "Let's go then," I tell him.

Cinna grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall, the door swinging shut behind me. He pulls me to a section of our floor I haven't been in yet. When we reach some stairs going up to what appears to be another level, I ask nervously, "Are we allowed up here?"

"Yes," Cinna answers. "It's still part of the fourth floor."

The apprehension that had built up lessened a little as Cinna pulled me up to thick double doors, which we passed through onto a large patio, complete with a fountain and garden. We sit on the bench beside the fountain, splashing noisily, where we can stare up at the starry sky. The artificial starry sky, I knew, from my schooling.

"It's pretty enough," I hear myself say. I didn't mean to speak. "But it isn't everything. And it's fake." I smile sheepishly, as I realized I had almost repeated Cinna's exact words to me a few hours ago.

Cinna grins at me, as he recognizes the use. "I suppose. But it is my home. I can't remember real stars. I left District Six when I was only a baby."

My head whips around and I stare at him. "Really?"

Cinna nods. "The Capitol's all I've ever known. Apart from what my mother has told me, I've never been outside the Capitol."

My head tries to wrap itself around this little piece of information. I didn't know District citizens could move to the Capitol. I suppose that was why his accent wasn't exactly like the one of a regular Capitol citizen. Being brought up by his mother, her accent must have rubbed off on him. "How?" I ask. "How did you and your mother get to live in the Capitol?"

Cinna half-shrugged. "My father, a natural-born Capitol citizen, was inspecting a factory she worked in, in District Six. That's how they met. They grew closer and he came back to visit her all the time, even after he went back to the Capitol. Eventually, he got permission for her to live with him. He knew a lot of people in … high places … and it was arranged that if my mother was willing to leave everything - her family, friends, job … all of it - behind, she had permission to live with him, and as long as they were together, she could live in the Capitol as a full citizen."

"Wow." I was amazed. "She left everything she knew? She must have loved him."

"Yes. Though another part of her knew that if she went to the Capitol and became a citizen, life would be much easier and I wouldn't be at risk of being a tribute for the games. She discovered she was pregnant a few months before she left, you see. She told me that was something that played a part in her decision."

"So you were brought up in the Capitol?" I ask, just to be sure.

Cinna nods.

"Well. You've actually turned out quite well considering," I tell him.

"Thanks to my mother," Cinna agrees. "She instilled a few values into me that otherwise wouldn't have been."

"So, is she still in the Capitol? With your father?" I ask. This is important to me for some reason.

"Sort of," Cinna says, slowly, drawing out the 's'. "They died nearly two years ago actually. In a lab explosion."

That draws me up short. "Oh. I'm sor-"

"It's fine," Cinna says calmly. "I don't need or want sympathy."

"Okay," I say. We fall into silence and I listen to the bustling, celebratory sounds coming from the brightly-lit, multi-coloured street down below and begin to shiver at the cool wind blowing in large gusts across the balcony. Cinna notices and wraps an arm around me, and rubs my other arm.

"What would you be doing if you were at home now?" Cinna asks.

"Probably watching the recap of the reapings in front of the fire eating whatever my mom cooked with my brother and father. My mother would be keeping herself busy somewhere else. Maybe sewing."

"Why?" Cinna asks.

I hesitate before I answer, thinking of how all citizens of Panem are made to act as though the Hunger Games are cause for a celebration,n and the fact that I am sitting right in the heart of the Capitol, where this rule comes from. What if someone was listening? "She … likes to keep herself occupied," I say lamely. Cinna knows I'm lying, but doesn't call me out for it. I hurriedly continue. "Have you ever seen a fire made of driftwood from the beach?"

"No," Cinna replies.

"We use it all the time at home," I say. "People mostly use it for massive bonfires and things, but my Dad really loves it so he uses it for our home fires as well. If there's enough salt in the wood, it makes the colour change to blue or green and sometimes purple and it smells different too. It's pretty. Not really extravagantly fake pretty, like these stars. But naturally pretty – simple - like …" I try to think of something naturally beautiful that I'd seen in the Capitol that Cinna would be familiar with. "… like …"

"Naturally pretty like you?" Cinna asks looking at me, the corner of his mouth tweaked upwards.

I can't look away and something in my stomach shoots around. I quash it. Immediately. "You do remember that I'm going to die in a few days."

"Yes. And it's not 'I am'. It's 'I might'," he retorts. I bite my lip.

"Don't get your hopes up. Anything can happen," I say. The walls have come up again and I'm facing away from him.

"Are you planning on dying?" Cinna asks.

I scoff. "No. But no o-"

"Then stop saying you will," Cinna tells me.

* * *

**Chapter two is coming soon! **


End file.
